“I will go back and look at my children,” she said. “I may not see them again.” She went to the nursery, with that same strange, fluttering pain at her heart. She bent over them and kissed them with a passion of tears. “How shall I leave you?” she moaned. “How can I part from you? I go forth to shame and death, but you will know all in heaven.” Then her heart gave way, and she wept until her very soul seemed exhausted and she could weep no more. Little Harry stirred in his sleep, and she soothed him with gently murmured words. Who would soothe them when she was gone? Who would tell them how dearly she had loved them, and how well she loved them? Who would whisper the name of the disgraced mother? She ceased weeping at last, and a look of calm came over her face. “God knows,” she said, as she laid her tired head on the pillow to rest. “God knows, and the children will know in another world.” CHAPTER XLIX. SIR RONALD’S DEATH. A night had passed, bringing no rest to Kenelm Eyrle. He had gone home to The Towers, but sleep was far from him. His whole soul recoiled with horror from the shock. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined anything so horrible. He had not, in fact, believed her; but on his way home it struck him that he might have confirmation of one part of her story. Her cousin, of whom she had spoken, was Colonel Hurdlestone, and he lived not far from The Towers. Kenelm rode round there and found him enjoying some fine claret. Colonel Hurdlestone asked him to join him, and Mr. Eyrle, thinking the opportunity a good one, consented. He talked to his host about different matters of interest until he turned the conversation on different weapons. “Let me see, did you not once give Lady Hermione Lorriston a dagger--an antique of great value?” The colonel, who was fond of antiques, brightened at the thought of it. “Yes; one I brought with me from Greece--quite a curiosity; long, very slender, and bright, with a jeweled handle. My cousin prized it very much, but I have not seen it of late. I must ask her about it.” “You gave it to her, then, to keep?” said Mr. Eyrle, the last faint hope dying from his heart. The colonel laughed. “Yes; one does not lend such curiosities. To tell you the truth, I gave it to my Lady Hermione rather against my will; she admired it and asked me for it. I considered that dagger one of the greatest curiosities I brought with me from Greece.” “It was a strange thing to attract Lady Hermione’s attention,” said Kenelm. “Ah!” laughed the colonel; “there is no accounting for tastes. Those ancient Grecian ladies must have been fine-spirited dames. I should not like to say that the pretty dagger Lady Hermione admired had been used as an instrument of vengeance.”